Category Archives: Blackout Poetry

A Song of Spring – Blackout Poem

song of spring

a song of spring

the green land,
the water, the leaves
sing of spring…

come forth,
to love’s edge,
dance in the moment
enter the light
where silence
screams

~kat


A Blackout Poem inspired by the poem below


The Lake in Central Park

BY JAY WRIGHT

It should have a woman’s name,

something to tell us how the green skirt of land

has bound its hips.

When the day lowers its vermilion tapestry over the west ridge,

the water has the sound of leaves shaken in a sack,

and the child’s voice that you have heard below

sings of the sea.

 

By slow movements of the earth’s crust,

or is it that her hip bones have been shaped

by a fault of engineering?

Some coquetry cycles this blue edge,

a spring ready to come forth to correct

love’s mathematics.

 

Saturday rises immaculately.

The water’s jade edge plays against corn-colored

picnic baskets, rose and lemon bottles, red balloons,

dancers in purple tights, a roan mare out of its field.

It is not the moment to think of Bahia

and the gray mother with her water explanation.

Not far from here, the city, a mass of swift water

in its own depression, licks its sores.

 

Still, I would be eased by reasons.

Sand dunes in drifts.

Lava cuts its own bed at a mountain base.

Blindness enters where the light refuses to go.

In Loch Lomond, the water flowers with algae

and a small life has taken the name of a star.

 

You will hear my star-slow heart

empty itself with a light-swift pitch

where the water thins to a silence.

And the woman who will not be named

screams in the birth of her fading away.

 

Jay Wright, “The Lake in Central Park” from Transfigurations: Collected Poems (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2000). Copyright © 2000 by Jay Wright. Reprinted with the permission of the author.

Source: Transfigurations: Collected Poems (Louisiana State University Press, 2000)


Whispering from the Muse

left wanting



left wanting…

for the flowers,
just being was
enough…to be sweet,
to be part of the clay,
and before clay,
being earth, and
before earth, nothing

but then
the flowers
wished very hard
to grow wings
and for
something
to sing

~kat

 


A Blackout Poem inspired by the poem below:

The Origin of Birds
By Nicole Callihan

For hours, the flowers were enough.
Before the flowers, Adam had been enough.
Before Adam, just being a rib was enough.
Just being inside Adam’s body, near his heart, enough.
Enough to be so near his heart, enough
to feel that sweet steady rhythm, enough
to be a part of something bigger was enough.
And before the rib, being clay was enough.
And before clay, just being earth was enough.
And before earth, being nothing was enough.
But then enough was no longer enough.
The flowers bowed their heads, as if to say, enough,
and so Eve, surrounded by peonies, and alone enough,
wished very hard for something, and the wish was enough
to make the pinecone grow wings; the wish was enough
to point to the sky, say bird, and wait for something to sing.


Depth of Ill – Blackout Poem

 

poe

depth of ill

from childhood
my passions spring
from sorrow
my stormy life was
drawn from ev’ry
depth of ill which
stills the fountain,
the sun, its tints of
gold, pass’d me by
when heaven was
a demon in my view

~kat


A Blackout poem inspired by Edgar Allen Poe’s poem “Alone”. See Below:

Alone
By Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy lifewas drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still
From the torrent, or the fountain
From the red cliff the mountain—
From the sun that ‘round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view
Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/alone-by-edgar-allan-poe


Monday with the Muse

allnnothing.jpg

all and nothing in between

in between every in between
shadows in mocha brown, two shades dark
exquisite stained glass camouflage
blocks the ozone…we need control,
bullets for the concrete sky to create holes
so someone could dream of flowers
while parking lots gather shopping carts

~kat


A Blackout Poem (a bit on the abstract side) inspired by the poem “All-American” by David Hernandez (see below):

I’m this tiny, this statuesque, and everywhere
in between, and everywhere in between
bony and overweight, my shadow(s) cannot hold
one shape in Omaha, in Tuscaloosa, in Aberdeen.
My skin is mocha brown, two shades darker
than taupe, your question is racist, nutmeg, beige,
I’m not offended by your question at all.
Penis or vagina? Yes and yes. Gay or straight?
Both boxes. Bi, not bi, who cares, stop
fixating on my sex life, Jesus never leveled
his eye to a bedroom’s keyhole. I go to church
in Tempe, in Waco, the one with the exquisite
stained glass, the one with a white spire
like the tip of a Klansman’s hood. Churches
creep me out, I never step inside one,
never utter hymns, Sundays I hide my flesh
with camouflage and hunt. I don’t hunt
but wish every deer wore a bulletproof vest
and fired back. It’s cinnamon, my skin,
it’s more sandstone than any color I know.
I voted for Obama, McCain, Nader, I was too
apathetic to vote, too lazy to walk one block,
two blocks to the voting booth For or against
a women’s right to choose? Yes, for and against.
For waterboarding, for strapping detainees
with snorkels and diving masks. Against burning
fossil fuels, let’s punish all those smokestacks
for eating the ozone, bring the wrecking balls,
but build more smokestacks, we need jobs
here in Harrisburg, here in Kalamazoo. Against
gun control, for cotton bullets, for constructing
a better fence along the border, let’s raise
concrete toward the sky, why does it need
all that space to begin with? For creating
holes in the fence, adding ladders, they’re not
here to steal work from us, no one dreams
of crab walking for hours across a lettuce field
so someone could order the Caesar salad.
No one dreams of sliding a squeegee down
the cloud-mirrored windows of a high-rise,
but some of us do it. Some of us sell flowers.
Some of us cut hair. Some of us carefully
steer a mower around the cemetery grounds.
Some of us paint(s) houses. Some of us monitor
the power grid. Some of us ring you up
while some of us crisscross a parking lot(s)
to gather the shopping carts into one long,
rolling, clamorous and glittering backbone.


Monday with the Muse

the strangeness of aging

after all these decades
maybe the pain that
tightens my body is
peculiarly perfect …

past memories
on yellow bones
getting small, hidden
away deep in my
body would’ve
driven me insane

~kat


A Blackout Poem inspired by the poem below:

Red with a Touch of Sulfur
by Zubair Ahmed

Isn’t it funny
when suddenly after all these decades
you notice a new part of your body.

Maybe the hamstrings—
entirely unused when lifting weights,
back used instead
which then pains for years.

Maybe the slight shoulder raise
that tightens those muscles
maybe for good.

I notice my body
slide through time.
It is odd and peculiar(ly)
genius of no one,
a perfect clock
making clocks
look simple.

Newness comes naturally.
Resisting it causes the past
to present memories on yellow
platters.

My age is a number.
Bones getting ready to play poker.
I will remain a small book
hidden away deep
in the library.

I love my body and this world!
Such a declaration
five years ago
would’ve driven me insane.

But now an appreciation arrives
with a fine taste of sulfur
and anywhere I look is born
a rose.


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